Maine had won. He had known he would, if only because of history and persistence, but the victory still felt good. Be careful. Be careful and he couldn't help but laugh under his breath. What was he going to do, sprain a wrist? Like it was any worse than getting a clip emptied into his throat?

He rumbled. Yes, mom.. But he smirked a little as he rocked the hand, as he focused on the hurried breath against his neck, as he focused on callouses that brushed but weren't abrasive. His thumb slid along the other's head, and dancing over the slit before moving back down; he sped up if only to make it go faster. Wash probably wasn't up for something that could take an hour.

And Maine could draw it out if he was feeling like a dick.

It had been too long, though, and while he had jerked off in the lonely and bored hours waiting for this, it wasn't the same as being touched by someone else, by someone who knew him, who had learned his quirks, his likes, his dislikes. It wasn't going to take much time, his cock already twitching in the other man's hand, wanting but holding out. Not before Wash. He wasn't going to before his partner.

If he did, then Wash would know he really wasn't feeling well and he would never hear the end of it.